


The Pack Survives

by elenei



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Fix It Fic, siblings bonding!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-23 23:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenei/pseuds/elenei
Summary: Arya and Bran spend some time in the Godswood together after being reunited at Winterfell.





	The Pack Survives

Arya had never watched someone leave their body. She had done it often enough herself. But being on the other end was different. She stared at her brother. His eyes were milky white and open but they did not see her. He's really is skin changing into the weirwood, Arya thought in amazement. He can feel what it feels and see what it sees. Everything that it has ever seen going back a thousand years. He can see everything. When he had told Arya this she had accepted it easily. But it was still a thing to behold.

Arya was no stranger to wearing skins. She dreamt of Nymeria every night. If she reached out now she could feel her running through the trees with Summer and Shaggydog at her side. In Braavos she had seen through the eyes of cats and even wore the faces of those claimed by the Faceless Men. They were the same, she and her little brother. Beastlings. Skinchangers. Wargs. None of the others would ever understand.

But even Arya could not truly understand the weight the old gods had on Bran’s shoulders. It was the weight of the entire world. Nobody should have to bear that. Least of all her little brother. Sitting in his chair he looked so small and fragile. The years beyond the wall had eaten away at him.

Arya turned from where she sat and reached up her hand. She pressed her palm to the heart tree. The bark was rough under her skin. She closed her eyes tight and tried to clear her mind as if she was going to slip into Nymeria’s skin.

“Show me how to help him, you gods,” She whispered. The wind rustled through the trees as snow softly fell but Arya felt nothing. I'm not as strong as him, she thought despairingly. 

Arya bit her lip, hard. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or punch the weirwood in its sappy face. It wasn’t fair to do this to him and not let anyone help. Arya took several deep breathes.

Behind her, she heard a noise that she instantly knew was Bran stirring. He’s waking up! She had brought him to the godswood that morning. She had volunteered even though she knew any number of people could have done it. Arya didn’t think it felt right to give a servant this task. Nor did she want to leave him out here alone. She had kept vigil over his vulnerable body all day. The sun was setting. Arya whirled to find him clutching his head.

Arya remembered how she sometimes felt coming out of a wolf dream. It was easy to forget yourself. She approached the chair and knelt beside him. She gave him a long moment of silence. But when he didn’t acknowledge her presence she began to worry.

“Welcome back.” Nothing. She let it go for several long minutes before pushing again. “Do you remember who you are?” Arya asked

Bran stared past her. His eyes were focused on the heart tree. Arya took his face between her hands and made him look at her.

“Do you know who you are?” She repeated.

“Yes,” he answered finally.

“Say it,” she demanded. She almost winced at her own harshness but he needed to come back. 

“Bran,” he said his voice hoarse. “I'm Brandon Stark of Winterfell.”

Arya nodded and brushed a lock of auburn hair back from his forehead. Bran was still far away. He was looking at her but not seeing her. Arya could tell.

“They’re coming,” he said eventually.

“Who?” Arya asked.

“The others.”

Arya shivered. The Others. It was like one of Old Nan’s stories. Just like the dragons she had seen flying in the sky as she sailed across the narrow sea. But it wasn’t a story anymore. It was real. Winter is coming, she thought reverently.

“When they come we’ll kill them all,” Arya said fiercely. She clutched Dark Sister’s hilt. It was a beautiful sword, made for a queen and priceless. She still kept Needle safely tucked away in her room but she needed to train with the Valyrian steel her brother had given her if she ever wanted to be able to use it against the walkers. It was one of the few things that could slay them according to Samwell Tarly, the brother of the night’s watch she had met for the second time behind Winterfell’s walls with surprise, and she intended to put it to good use.

“I don’t know. I can’t see-“ Bran shook his head.

“We will.” Arya’s voice was firm. “And once they’re gone you’ll be okay again,” she added.

Bran didn’t respond for several heartbeats. When he did his voice was small and uncertain.

“I’m afraid.” Whether he meant of the White Walkers or of never truly being okay again Arya couldn’t be sure.

“Me too,” Arya confessed.

Bran looked at her directly. He had the same Tully blue eyes as mother. That made Arya’s heart hurt. She no longer felt a hole there. Not at Winterfell. Not surrounded by her brothers and sister. But it still hurt. She didn’t think there would ever come a time when she thought of mother or father or Robb without it hurting. She wondered if Bran saw father’s when he looked into her eyes. Then Bran’s expression became thoughtful and Arya thought maybe he could read thoughts too. “A long time ago, Father told me that the only time a man can be brave is when he’s afraid.”

Arya clung to that. Father hadn’t ever said those words to her. Maybe he hadn’t thought he needed to. She had been such a wild, fearless girl when safe behind Winterfell’s walls. Father had done his best to protect her and see that she was never scared. But she was scared now. Even behind these walls death could find her. It could find all of them. The thought of it taking her brothers or Sansa made her more frightened than it did for her own life.

Fear cuts deeper than swords, she reminded herself. She chewed her lip.

“Once he told me that when the snows falls and the white winds blow lone wolf dies but the pack survives,” Arya told him. “I thought for so long that I was the lone wolf but I was wrong. We’re together again.” Bran blinked and then he almost smiled. Arya took his hand. “And we’ll protect each other. We’re direwolves of House Stark. It’s winter. This is our time.”

“A time for wolves,” Bran answered his voice echoing wisdom far beyond his years.

Arya thought of Nymeria and her wolves prowling through the trees with their eyes gleaming to see in the dark and pelts of thick fur to keep them warm in the snow. Of Summer and Shaggy and Ghost far away south with Jon. If they were made for winter than so are we. 

“Yes.” Arya felt chills again but she felt strong too. “A time for wolves.”


End file.
